Pretty Good Year
by lizfirestarter
Summary: They say when you die your life flashes before your eyes, but they never say anything about the people you leave behind. Natasha POV fic about how she deals with Phil Coulson's death. My first ever Tasha POV fic. Here goes! :D


**Character:** Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow (mentions of the rest of the cast, especially Coulson and Clint, who are not connected to any RP muse at this time.)

**Fandom:** Marvel Cinematic Universe

**Setting:** Agent Phil Coulson's funeral

**Rating/Warnings:** Angst and dying and hiding things in your boobs. Is that worth a warning?

**Spoilers:** Plenty if you haven't see the flick, but I boned you with the setting if that's the case. Whoops.

**Prompt:** Pretty Good Year - Tori Amos

**Author's Notes:** This is my first EVER Tasha POV fic. Be nice, please? Semi inspired by a little conversation with a Coulson RPer, capfanboy, but in no way is this canon to our RP. (Unless they want it to be, of course. *grins*) Shit tons of headcanon because I have read maybe 6 comics Natasha is in. No judging.

Special thanks to Phil!Mun, Steve!mun and Kitty!Mun for the beta and grammar/punctuation smacks.

_They say when you die your life flashes before your eyes, but they never say anything about the people you leave behind._

By the time Natasha stopped long enough to fully realize Coulson was really, truly dead, weeks had passed. She felt guilty about that, but she filed it away with the ever growing stack of regrets in the back of her mind. Unlike the others in the little team that had now been forever branded 'The Avengers', Natasha never showed anyone she was at all affected by Phil's death. She ate her shawarma, she filed her reports, she took her sabbatical as Fury had directed her to. Barton suggested they visit Budapest to see what it was like when it wasn't half on fire. She agreed. She pretended to enjoy a nice little vacation. She ate her food and smiled and acted like her soul wasn't melting away inside her.

Clint may have been the man who decided to spare her life. He may have been the one who carried her unconscious body into medical after he all but killed her trying to keep her from killing him. Clint may have been the one she resigned herself to hidden childish feelings for, but he wasn't in any way the most important man in Natasha Romanoff's life.

Today she dressed in the usual all black, though her shoes were flats today instead of the typical sky high stilettos. Natasha's hair was impossible to put up after the haircut she was forced to get. She should have been thankful she even had hair. If Coulson hadn't have been there when that happened, she'd have been decapitated.

Tasha stepped outside, shivering slightly at the light breeze before she ducked back in to fetch a shawl. A flash of Phil pulling her from the icy water a rival spy named Sofia had tried to drown her in. He saved her life. _Again._ He had a habit of doing that.

She got in the car wordlessly, ignoring Barton the entire trip to the funeral service. Ordinarily you didn't get a funeral from SHIELD, but Coulson was special. Since they'd cremated him, the funeral was held until they'd all returned.

Natasha stepped from the car, shrugging off Barton's hand as he tried to place it on her shoulder in a comforting gesture. She didn't want comfort. She didn't want anything. She just wanted to get this over with.

Natasha met each of the Avengers' eyes as they gathered together. Thor had managed to blend in relatively well, though his formal garments still looked like something out of myth. His expression was concerned, but he simply nodded to Natasha to express his sympathies.

Stark's suit was perfectly tailored, yet he'd managed to slop what looked like taco sauce on the lapel. Natasha had a fleeting thought of the time Coulson had to adjust the surveillance gear on a very, very small outfit she'd needed for a job. Her very first SHIELD assignment. She'd spilled something, what it was she couldn't remember, on the glittering bra top and Phil, always prepared, had a little wet wipe in his pocket to wipe it away. Then he handed her a gun, a suicide pill and sent her on her way. Like a big brother sending his kid sister off to to a different section of the playground on the first day of school.

Tasha reached her hand up, suddenly grossly aware that her fingers were shaking as she brushed away the spot from Stark's suit.

Banner looked understandably nervous. The doctor and crowds never did match well together, nor did events that would fill one with negative, angry emotion. Or so they'd all thought before. Natasha stopped near Bruce, who simply smiled nervously at her before flashing her a half hearted thumbs up. She smiled back.

Steve, true to his old fashioned form, offered her his arm for the rest of the walk up. Natasha wasn't usually the kind of woman who took well to classic chivalry, but she knew she'd offend the captain if she didn't accept.

Fury was already seated, as was Maria Hill. Natasha had never seen the other woman outside of her uniform. She was pretty. Beautiful. Natasha immediately felt guilty for thinking of something so shallow at a time like this.

They all sat together, as families do at the funeral of a loved on. None of them knew if Phil had actual family, or if the cellist he'd mentioned in passing was attending. Did she, or for that matter he, even knew Coulson was dead?

Natasha studied the floor beneath her as the clergyman spoke. No emotion crossed her face when he stepped aside to allow her to stand before the gathered mourners to deliver the eulogy. Natasha pulled a small folded speech from the space between her breasts. It was habit, keeping important things so literally close to her chest.

A silence not unlike death fell over the room, so much so that Natasha felt unfolding the paper was one of the loudest sounds she's ever heard. She could sneak up on anyone, at anytime, in any conditions, but this paper rustling was like an explosion.

She cleared her throat, though not to compose herself. Natasha was still cool as could be about all of this. Regimes fall every day. People live, people die. It was nothing to weep over. Needless emotion would only prevent her from accurately and efficiently expressing her final thoughts about Agent Phil Coulson, and she couldn't have that.

"Agent Phil Coulson was..." Natasha started to speak as she looked up. Every eye in the room on her. She was used to that, especially having eyes should couldn't see on her when she needed them to be. Phil's eyes. He was always there to watch her back, to get her an exit strategy, the information she needed to stay alive. _To save her life._

"He was..." She stumbled, the speech on the paper suddenly blurry before her eyes. She coughed, the sensation that someone had just dumped a bucket of gravel down her throat undeniable. That had happened before. Someone tried to bury her. Phil dug her out before she ran out of oxygen. That was the day she discovered he had a heavy machinery license.

"_He..._" Tasha looked away from the eyes focused on her, the blur caused by the tears that finally made their way from her eyes so frustrating she shook her head roughly enough to make the microphone on her dress squeal with feedback. She let out a gasping sob that sounded like she was dying herself in reaction.

Fury was the first on his feet, followed swiftly by the rest of them. Hill moved swiftly back, unsure how to deal with an overly emotional Black Widow. Most of them had never seen this happen before. When it did, they always sent in Coulson to handle it. To handle her. He was good at that.

Natasha met the eyes of every Avenger. Her teammates, her friends, perhaps? The men she'd saved the world with. Heroes. Superheroes.

Her gaze jerked around to the expensive urn that housed what was left of Phil Coulson. Cremation. She'd never pegged him for that kind of guy. Natasha stared at it for what must have been too long, because the next thing she consciously remembered was the sound of Clint's voice saying her name. He was much closer to her than he had been before.

She looked at him, suddenly aware her face was soaking wet with tears, her hands trembling with sadness, anger and so many other feelings she couldn't begin to identify. She looked...up, realizing finally that she'd collapsed to the floor in her grief.

Natasha let out a breath which echoed through the room when it hit the microphone. She looked down, ripping the mic from her chest as she got to her feet. Clint was the only one foolish enough to try and stop her from leaving, and he was met with a hard shove that sent him nearly tumbling had Thor not been behind him to catch him.

The walk out seemed to take years. Decades. A lifetime. Once again every eye in the room was on her and for the once, she hated it. Weakness, vulnerability, being an emotional woman. The Black Widow could exploit those, fake them like the most talented actress, but this time they were real and she had no idea what to do about it.

Or maybe she did.

Natalia Alianova Romanova...Natasha Romanoff...the famous Black Widow knew exactly what to do when something like losing the man who was more important than anyone else in the world threatened to compromise everything you were and everything you ever would be.

_You ran._


End file.
